


Kiss Me Softly, Sweetly

by Graveyard



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M, Platonic Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graveyard/pseuds/Graveyard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the quiet aftermath of a busy day in the medibay, two mechs find they no longer have the energy to argue with each other. Copious amounts of fluff ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Softly, Sweetly

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written one night when I decided to go out to the karaoke bar with my friends. I'm not a terribly good singer, but it seemed like good fun at the time and so I decided to give it a whirl.
> 
> That was the night I discovered that I have acute stage fright.
> 
> After that disaster I was so shaken that the only thing which could calm me down was writing the most disgustingly cute robot nuzzles and smooches known to mankind. Thus, this fic was born. Enjoy.

Another emergency; another daring rescue. Rodimus was good at those. But it was Ratchet that always had to deal with the aftermath.

He slumped in a chair in the medical facility, exhausted. The injured were stabilized. He should retire for the night, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. He’d ordered First Aid and Ambulon out cycles ago after a particularly grueling surgery that had stretched all their nerves to the breaking point. However, he could not seem to take his own advice to go and recharge. He feared that if he left, a warning siren would go off and he’d be too far away to get there in time. The sparks were all stable. The stuttering and shrinking had ceased and everyone was pulsing normally. Nothing would happen. Yet he could not pull himself away.

A scrape of metal startled him and he glanced up. Silhouetted in the doorway was a ghostly white figure, a silent spectator. Only the dragging of one sword sheathe against the frame of the door had betrayed him, but now that Ratchet looked he could see Drift’s hand resting lightly on the pommel. He had made the noise on purpose to alert the medic. It was amazing how quietly the mech could move.

Demonstrating this last point, Drift stepped soundlessly into the medibay. The roll of his feet seemed to be the trick: he didn’t put all his weight down at once but rather let it flow across the curve of his soles as he glided into the room. Ratchet watched with wary optics. The posture of the ninja was serene, but it would only take one carelessly thrown remark about energy or auras to incite Ratchet’s rage. He tensed, expecting it to come.

What he didn’t expect was for Drift to reach out and affectionately rub his stiffly-held shoulders.

“You need rest,” he observed gently. His words--like the rest of his noises--were quiet, nearly lost beneath the steady hum of a dozen machines at work. Ratchet was silent in the wake of them. He couldn’t find a way to respond to the inoffensive statement. Normally there was some kind of hook, some angle that he could work a retort into. Today there was nothing.

Maybe even Drift was too tired for their usual banter.

Ratchet was glad for it. Despite himself he let his shoulders relax against the soothing caresses. Drift took this gesture positively and leaned in to do more. Ratchet felt a slight hitch in his vents when Drift rubbed their helms together. Drift’s engine started a low, comforting hum as he nuzzled against the side of Ratchet’s face. It was a little embarrassing, and Ratchet wrapped a hand around Drift’s upper arm. He wasn’t ready to push him away just yet, but he held him there to stop him from doing more. Drift shifted to look at the doctor and their blue optics met: shining at each other from across the darkness.

Ratchet tried to look sullen, but he knew he just looked weary. He couldn’t seem to muster the effort to hide that fact. Drift’s optics flickered as he beheld him, then the ninja began to move again, sliding his helm along Ratchet’s until he got to the chevron. Here his blue optics winked out completely, shuttering the light to his spark. He pressed his forehead into Ratchet’s and stilled there, venting slowly.

It dawned on Ratchet that all this was probably some kind of elaborate ritual to cleanse the stress from his aura or something. It was the kind of thing Drift would do. He set his mouth into a heavily exaggerated frown: the kind of grumpy expression that would make Ultra Magnus proud. He was a little disappointed that Drift had offlined his optics and could not see the glorious huff he was putting on. It was a shame, but he didn’t feel too badly about it, because the next thing that happened was Drift tilting his face forward and pressing his lips against Ratchet’s.

The frown vanished and bewilderment replaced it. He knew Drift referenced some pretty questionable materials when it came to meditation and spirituality, but he was pretty sure that none of the voodoo mumbo-jumbo suggested snogging the person you were trying to cheer up.

For one thing that would make too much sense.

Ratchet let the hand on Drift’s arm loosen, and his skilled fingers traced down the seam he found there until he reached the elbow joint. As he did this he let himself move into the kiss, enjoying the firm press of another’s mouth on his own. Drift’s lips were warm, perhaps a little too much so, and every place they brushed against tingled interestingly. Ratchet vented a soft sigh as they kissed, feeling some of his stress melt away into the tender display of affection. The two of them lingered there a moment, and then Drift slowly drew away.

His optics had come back online, Ratchet noticed, and were searching his face as though trying to read his expression. Ratchet squeezed the elbow he was holding to reassure him that the kiss was in fact okay. Drift’s face softened into a warm smile. He stood then, slipping his elbow out of Ratchet’s grasp and instead offering a hand to the medic.

“Don’t skip your recharge. You have people who care about you,” Drift told him, and for the second time that night Ratchet couldn’t find the strength to argue. He let Drift pull him to his feet and lead him down the corridor to where his berth awaited him.

Today’s duties were over. Tomorrow would come soon enough. But now, just for a moment, he had earned the chance to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll let you in on a little secret: this is actually the first fanfiction I have ever published on the internet. I'm terrified. Images of the karaoke bar keep flashing before my eyes. This can only be a disaster.
> 
> Or perhaps not? If you have a moment, feel free to comment and tell me how wonderful this fic was and repair my shattered confidence. Alternatively, tell me how horrible it was so that I may do better in the future. If it wasn't too bad, perhaps I shall write some more to this. I have several ideas which lead in different directions: some romantic, some erotic, and some platonic (is it just me, or does the kissing in this read like very close friends?) I'd love to explore some of these options, but I suppose first I shall need to know what people desire and if they enjoyed this enough to read more of it. Let me know and I would be happy to keep writing for you, or alternatively confine my efforts to the safety of my apartment where no one else has to be subjected to it, much like with my singing.
> 
> Like religion, writers have no power unless someone is there to believe. Thank you for reading.


End file.
